


Infection of a Different Kind

by talefeathers



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Ambiguity, Anger, Angst, Corruption, Curses, Fear, Figurative Language, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, Infection, Narrative Devices, Past Character Death, Plague, Possession, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/pseuds/talefeathers
Summary: Friar Lawrence is preparing to get his message on its way to Romeo in Mantua when he is joined in the chapel by an unexpected guest.
Relationships: Friar Laurence & Valentine, Friar Lawrence & Valentine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Infection of a Different Kind

**Author's Note:**

> [corrupt (v.)](https://www.dictionary.com/browse/corrupt)  
> 9\. to alter for the worse; debase  
> 11\. to **infect;** to taint

The sun had only barely begun to lighten the eastern sky, but Friar Lawrence was up already and dressed, a freshly sealed envelope clutched in one hand as he entered the chapel from the adjoining cell he called his home to begin his morning prayers. Before he could so much as genuflect before the altar, however, his peripheral vision caught a shape in the very back row of pews, and his heart leaped into his throat.

“St. Francis!” he exclaimed, stumbling back a step and groping for the crucifix that hung from his neck. “Mercutio?” he breathed.

“Common mistake,” a hollow voice answered as the figure rose from the pew and moved to stand in an early shaft of dawn light, broken into kaleidoscopic pieces on his face by the chapel’s stained glass windows.

“Valentine,” the friar sighed, relieved. “My son, what —?”

He stopped himself before he could ask what the boy was doing here; Juliet was not the only child who had lost kin in yesterday’s brawl.

“What solace can I offer you?” he amended clumsily.

Valentine gave a languid shrug.

“You’re the holy man,” he said, continuing his stride down the center aisle toward where the friar stood at the altar. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

_ Have they truly always looked so alike? _ Friar Lawrence wondered as the boy came ever closer. It had not been unheard of for one to be mistaken for the other, as Valentine had alluded, but usually only in passing, when one’s observations were rushed. Never before this moment had the friar found their similarities so striking.

“Do you want to know what my brother’s final words were?” Valentine asked as he reached the altar at last, without waiting for any priestly comfort.

The friar didn’t. He could feel that something was wrong here, wrong on a level much deeper than a teenager grieving the death of his brother. Wrong on a level that scared him.

“‘A plague,’” Valentine said, again without waiting for the friar to answer him. “‘A plague o’ both your houses.’” His eyes moved to the cross that hung over the altar, to the likeness of the bleeding Christ that hung from it. A bitter smile played on the boy’s lips, but the friar could see that tears also stood in his eyes.

“And I can’t stop hearing it,” Valentine continued, turning to face the friar again. “I can’t stop hearing him say it. Over and over and over. In here.” He tapped his temple with one hand. “It feels almost like he’s. Like he’s.”

But Valentine couldn’t seem to bring himself to say exactly what he thought Mercutio was. Or where.

His eyes flicked to the envelope in Friar Lawrence’s hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Friar Lawrence’s heart cried out against answering, but he realized quickly, to his mounting horror, that he could not keep the words in his mouth.

“A message,” he said. “Friar John leaves for Mantua today, and this news must go with him.”

“I can take it,” Valentine said, extending his hand. “I’ve already delayed you in your holy duties. How does the scripture go again?” He flashed that bitter grin again, and again the friar was struck by how very like Mercutio the expression made him look. “‘Give God what is due God,” and give the letter to me. I’ll take it to Friar John.”

Just as the friar had not been able to keep himself from answering the boy’s question, so too he found that he could not keep his arm from stretching out, from holding the envelope out to him even as it shook in his hand. Valentine plucked it from his grasp and turned it over, seeming to study it. Seeming to know, though the friar had tried to tell him as little as possible, exactly what was written within.

“Well, friar,” the boy said after a moment, meeting the friar’s eyes again with that sickening smile. “You’ve been a great comfort to me. Truly. I won’t keep you any longer.” He pressed a hand to his chest and gave a sardonic little bow. “Peace be with you.”

“And with you, my son,” the friar replied, softly, as Valentine turned to go, and even through the dread pooling in his heart like tar, he found that he did mean it. Even as the shadow of their brief exchange grew long in his mind, darkening future events with its choking talons, Friar Lawrence made the sign of the cross over the boy’s retreating back. “By God, whatever happens, I hope that you can find some peace.” He hesitated, and then added, “Both of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> _FRIAR LAWRENCE  
>  This same should be the voice of Friar John.  
> Welcome from Mantua. What says Romeo?  
> Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter._
> 
> _FRIAR JOHN  
>  Going to find a barefoot brother out,  
> One of our order, to associate me,  
> Here in this city visiting the sick,  
> And finding him, the searchers of the town,  
> Suspecting that we both were in a house  
> Where the infectious pestilence did reign,  
> Sealed up the doors and would not let us forth.  
> So that my speed to Mantua there was stayed._
> 
> _FRIAR LAWRENCE  
>  Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?_
> 
> _FRIAR JOHN  
>  I could not send it—here it is again—  
> Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,  
> So fearful were they of **infection.**_


End file.
